Chapter 4
Evander followed Olivia into the parlor, his steps slowing as he took in the familiar room.
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting a soft glow over the worn but elegant furnishings.
His mother sat near the hearth, a shawl draped about her shoulders, her frame far too slight beneath its folds.
The moment she saw them, her face brightened with a weary smile.
“Olivia, dear,” she called, extending both hands. “What an unexpected surprise.”
Evander stood back for a moment and watched as Olivia crossed the room and clasped his mother’s hands warmly.
The affection between the two women was evident.
Yet as he observed the scene, his heart tightened.
His mother’s fingers were thin and fragile in Olivia’s grasp.
Her once vibrant black hair now carried streaks of silver that seemed more pronounced than ever.
Her every movement, even her smile, seemed to cost her effort.
He swallowed hard. How many moments had he wasted, thinking there would always be time? And now, he was no longer certain how many such moments remained.
Olivia and Lady Wilton settled on the settee across from his mother. Evander remained by the door, uncertain if he could compose himself enough to join them.
His mother’s gaze shifted towards him. “Do you intend to join us, or loiter by the doorway?” she asked, her tone laced with gentle amusement.
A rueful smile tugged at his lips. “I will join you,” he said, and crossed the room to sink into an armchair near the settee.
“Wonderful,” his mother replied. “Now, let us have a little tête-à-tête. I find I am most curious about Olivia. How are you faring, my dear?”
Olivia straightened, folding her hands primly in her lap. “I am well,” she replied—though her voice lacked its usual brightness, a note of strain beneath the polite words.
As she conversed with his mother, Evander studied her closely.
No matter how often he saw her, she unsettled him.
She was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever known—not simply for her countenance, but for her spirit.
She haunted his thoughts, whether he wished it or not. And he loved her. Madly. Hopelessly.
But she did not feel the same.
And so he kept his silence, content to remain in her presence and hope, in some unguarded moment, that her heart might one day soften towards him.
His mother’s voice interrupted his reverie. “Evander?”
He started and realized too late that he had been staring at Olivia. A sheepish smile curved his lips. “I do beg your pardon. My mind wandered.”
His mother tilted her head, eyes twinkling. “Do tell us—what is so fascinating about Olivia?”
The smile on his face deepened into a playful grin. “I was wondering if perhaps she is a witch.”
Olivia arched a brow. “And why would you think that?”
Placing a hand dramatically over his heart, he said, “Because she has bewitched me, and it is the only reasonable explanation.”
As he had hoped, Olivia rolled her eyes. “That was dreadful,” she said lightly. “I do hope you have not used that line on other women.”
“I have not,” he said. “You are my first attempt.”
“Well, pray do not repeat it. One cannot go about accusing young ladies of witchcraft—not even in jest.”
Evander leaned back in his chair, his grin lingering. “You used to be far more mischievous.”
“I am still mischievous,” she bantered.
“Are you?” he teased. “I recall a time when you and I concocted the most dreadful mixtures out of mud and berries in the gardens.”
“We were children,” Olivia remarked.
“Perhaps, but you did once believe that drinking the potion would grant you the power to fly.”
A wry smile touched Olivia’s lips. “I remember. I also remember breaking my arm attempting to prove my point.”
Lady Wilton interjected with a fond sigh. “Poor Olivia was confined to her bed for weeks while her arm mended.”
“And yet,” his mother added with a chuckle, “she was back to climbing trees the moment she was able. We should have tied bells around the two of you. At least then we might have known where you were at any given moment.”
Lady Wilton nodded. “Indeed, we could scarcely keep them apart whenever we were at our country estates.”
His mother’s eyes softened as she looked at him. “When Evander left for Eton, I feared he might attempt to smuggle Olivia away in one of his trunks.”
Olivia perked up. “I would have gladly gone! It would have been far preferable to being left in the care of my governess, Miss Laverton.”
“She was highly recommended,” Lady Wilton attempted.
“Highly dull, more like it,” Olivia replied. “I would often sit by the window, counting how many steps it would take to reach freedom.”
Lady Wilton shook her head. “You exaggerate, as always. Miss Laverton was an excellent governess.”
“Was she?” Olivia asked. “I distinctly remember seeing her skip away after our final lesson—as if she had been released from captivity.”
Lady Wilton huffed. “Perhaps she was driven to it by your questions. I seem to recall you asked her to explain… certain matters concerning animal mating.”
Olivia looked wholly unrepentant. “She claimed to have been raised on a farm. I wished to test the breadth of her knowledge.”
Lady Wilton frowned. “Genteel young ladies do not speak of such things.”
“Whyever not?” Olivia countered. “It is a part of life. An essential one.”
“Let us choose another topic before we scandalize Diana,” Lady Wilton said firmly.
His mother laughed, a warm sound that seemed to lighten the room. “You forget that I have known Olivia since the day she was born. There is nothing she might say that could shock me.”
“You are most kind, my lady,” Olivia replied, casting a triumphant glance at her mother.
Evander chuckled softly. “That does not mean you should test the limits.”
Abruptly, Olivia rose and met his gaze. “Shall we take a turn about the room?”
He rose at once. “I would be honored.”
They began a slow circuit of the parlor, their voices lowered.
“When do you intend to tell your mother about Bryon?” Olivia asked.
His chest tightened. “I suppose now is as good a time as any.”
“I am sorry,” she said gently. “How can I help?”
He glanced at her, gratitude flickering in his eyes. “Just stay with me. That will be enough.”
She gave him a small, steady nod. “Your mother seems weaker than when I last saw her.”
He swallowed slowly. “Every day she fades a little more. I hate to burden her with this… with the truth about Bryon.”
“It was in the newssheets,” Olivia said. “How have you kept it from her?”
He winced. “The household staff is shielding her. Her eyesight has deteriorated to the point that she can no longer read the newssheets herself. I suspect her maid conveniently skipped over that article.”
Olivia’s expression was one of concern. “You carry so much on your shoulders, Evander. But you are not alone.”
Their gazes met for a moment longer than necessary. And in that fleeting exchange, Evander allowed himself a single, silent hope—that one day, her words might mean more than comfort alone.
His mother’s voice pierced the quiet space between them. “What are you two conspiring about in hushed tones?”
Evander halted mid-step and turned slowly to face her. Olivia did the same, her expression smoothing into polite composure, though her hand lingered lightly at his elbow in silent support.
“I have something to tell you, Mother,” Evander said. “And I fear it will not be easy for you to hear.”
His mother’s brow creased slightly. “Are you and Olivia engaged at last?” she asked, a hopeful gleam momentarily brightening her eyes. “Because if so, I must say—”
“No. No, no... absolutely not,” Evander said quickly, hands rising in an almost panicked gesture.
Olivia turned her head sharply, her eyes wide with mock offense as she bumped his shoulder. “Truly, Evander. A simple no would have sufficed.”
He gave a sheepish chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “My apologies. I meant no slight, I assure you.”
“I know,” Olivia replied, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. “Still. A little less horror in your tone next time, perhaps.”
Evander gave her a grateful glance, then turned back to his mother. His humor faded as the gravity of the moment returned. “Mother... it’s about Bryon.”
At once, the lines on her face deepened. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “What about Bryon?”
Evander drew a slow, steadying breath, though it did little to ease the heaviness in his chest. “Illness swept through his ship on his journey to India, and he did not survive.”
His mother stared at him, unmoving. The silence stretched for several long seconds.
“Are you certain?” she asked at last, her voice a mere whisper.
“I am.”
For a moment, she remained very still. Then her gaze dropped to her lap, and Evander saw the telltale glimmer of moisture in her eyes just before the tears began to fall in earnest.
He crossed the room in an instant and dropped to his knees beside her, reaching for her trembling hand.
“I’m here, Mother,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You are not alone.”
Olivia appeared at his side. She drew a dainty handkerchief from her reticule and held it out. His mother accepted it and dabbed at her cheeks, though the tears kept coming.
The parlor fell into a hush, broken only by the sound of her unsteady breathing and the tick of the long clock by the wall.
After a long silence, his mother turned to the maid sitting quietly in the corner. Her voice was raw but composed. “I wish to retire to my bedchamber.”
The maid stood at once and crossed the room.
Evander squeezed his mother’s hand. “Allow me to escort you.”
She withdrew her hand slowly. “No. I wish to be alone.”
“But—”
“You have guests,” she said with effort. “Please, Evander. See them out properly.”
“There is no need for ceremony. We can see ourselves out,” Lady Wilton interjected.
His mother’s chin lifted faintly. “There is no excuse for bad manners, even in grief.”